


Heal Me Slow (Love Me Fast)

by crazyparakiss



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Baggage, Fake Marriage, Falling In Love, Hate Sex, Hate to Love, Inappropriate Humor, Infidelity, M/M, Mpreg, Pregnant Draco Malfoy, Pregnant Sex, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-02-16 07:57:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18687355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazyparakiss/pseuds/crazyparakiss
Summary: Being a father had never been in the cards.





	Heal Me Slow (Love Me Fast)

**Author's Note:**

> I was supposed to write hate sex, but they weren't cooperating. It's more of implied as a past thing. 
> 
>  A thousand thank you's to This_Bloody_Cat for all their help with this project. 
> 
> As always, it could have been longer but I was running low on time. <3

Being a father had never been in the cards. Much as Harry had thought he wanted fatherhood during the parts of his youth where the longing for a family was a strong, unrelenting desire. Adulthood had cured Harry of that pesky longing. Caring for Teddy was enough trouble, and he only took the child on those days when Andromeda’s grief consumed her. Those days when looking at a toddler that resembled the only child she lost was unbearable. Midnight feedings and not knowing how to make Teddy quit crying were what made Harry not want a child of his own. Which was a discovery that ended his relationship with Ginny. She’d wanted children and tea with her parents on Sundays. Harry wanted silence, his crup, cheap beer and lo mein on Sundays. 

That’s why—at this moment—he stares at the small, glossy square that Malfoy handed him some moments ago. It’s a print of a scan—a moving, babylike form that has a fast flickering heartbeat. Harry swallows. “Is this...” he begins, then scowls as he trails off. Glancing up at Malfoy, he says, “This can’t be real.” 

“It is,” Malfoy bites in response. “It’s not like I’m thrilled about this either.” Can’t imagine he is—it wasn’t exactly a romantic encounter that produced this problem. Harry had a scab on his lip for weeks where Malfoy had bit him, and he’s willing to bet Malfoy’s back was bruised for just as long from the force of Harry pinning him to the brick wall of the loo. 

“How’s it possible?” Harry asks, determined not to dwell on the unnecessary memories.

“I often forget you were raised as a bloody Muggle,” Malfoy sighs, exasperation clear as he settles into one of the leather chairs in Harry’s sitting room. He presses long fingers against his eyelids and lets out a sound that is half-sob. Harry waits—impatiently. 

“The sacred twenty-eight were a funny bunch of wankers,” Draco finally begins. “They wanted to make sure that their lines continued regardless of their children's genders or sexual preferences.”  _ Bloody bigots are to blame for this then. _

“And so they what...they gave men wombs?” Which is not as outrageous as it should seem, given what Harry knows now of magic. He did have his bones spelled away and regrown once. 

“Yes, and women the ability to impregnate other women, though that’s a much more complicated thing and tends to result in less unwanted pregnancies.” Draco finally allows his hands to drop away from his face and looks up at Harry. Misery is apparent in his face. 

“So what do you want to do about it,” Harry asks when Malfoy doesn’t seem like he’s going to say more. 

“We don’t murder fetuses in my family, Potter,” Malfoy snips. His eyes narrowing in Harry’s direction. “And we never have children out of wedlock.” 

That’s a troubling and bold assertion. “I won’t marry you if you’re deciding to keep it. I’m not even sure I want to be involved.” To anyone but Malfoy Harry would never have said such a truth. He’d have had a ring on any other finger as soon as he was handed a scan—he would fall in line and play his role. With Malfoy it’s too easy to be himself and so honesty comes as readily as breathing. 

“Can’t you pretend?” Malfoy sounds desperate. “I just need you to marry me, and in a year you can leave and I’ll never bother you again.”

“Why?” Harry can’t imagine any scenario where Malfoy would willingly marry him—pregnant or not. He didn’t even think Malfoy would be capable of such a task under the threat of death. Yet, here they are. 

“I don’t want to disappoint my mother.” Harry knows well the weight of worrying about if his mother is disappointed in his life choices. Must be an entirely different thing when the woman isn’t dead. 

“What do I get out of it?” Harry’s no longer one to want to do things for free. That chapter of his life is well and truly over. 

“You seemed to enjoy yourself that night, Potter. I can offer you a year of sexual favours.” 

Despite himself, Harry’s cock twitches at the memory of Draco gasping—his blunted nails in Harry’s back as he snarled for more. 

“Fine. Are you taking my name?” 

Draco scowls, “As if I’d want to give up mine for yours.” 

“The baby?” 

“Will be a Malfoy, since you don’t plan on staying around forever.” 

Seems fair to Harry.

*

Meeting Narcissa—officially—is a taxing affair. Not for Harry, but for Draco who seems determined to wear a hole in Harry’s rug, by pacing it. “Would you sit down?” He snaps when Draco keeps going to the curtains, looking out and then paces back towards the hearth. 

“She’s going to murder me,” Draco says. Dramatic as ever. 

“Most likely she’ll try to murder me—the one wot knocked you up,” Harry jokes as he settles back into his seat. Unconcerned for the entire affair. “Maybe I should offer to procure her Time-Turner so that she can go back and offer me up to Voldemort. You know? Avoid all of this bad business by plunging the world into despair.”

“Would you shut up,” Draco snaps, unamused by Harry’s dark humour. 

“My house, I’ll shut up when I fucking feel like it,” Harry replies cooly. “I’m not the one who has a mother to appease.” 

“Right,” Draco says, “Sorry.” He’s quick to apologise right now because Harry’s not quite wifed him yet and he’s truly desperate for this fake marriage to happen. 

Before Harry can set Draco off anew with another witty reply, the Floo glows vivid green and out steps Draco’s regal mother. She’s never lost that polish—not even when in dirtied prisoner’s robes and sleep bruises beneath her grey eyes. Those sharp eyes narrow on Harry as they flit to him, and he tenses despite the fact he’s not afraid of this woman. “Draco,” she says, even as her gaze never leaves Harry’s face. “You didn’t tell me this was Potter’s home.” 

Harry, being cheeky, replies, “We figured you needed two surprises.” 

She’s not a stupid woman, Narcissa, and she catches on quickly. “Are you pregnant?” There’s a tension to her careening neck that puts Aunt Petunia’s to shame, but unlike his aunt, Harry finds little humour in this woman. She is a harp’s cord—strung too tight and ready to snap. He knows too well how much the lash of wire stings. 

Draco trembles, like a small flower in a raging gale. 

Even so, his voice is strong, “Yes, Mother.” 

She rounds on Harry, but he doesn’t quiver beneath her ire. He readies himself—palm on the hilt of his wand—as she hisses, “Do you have the decency to marry my son for your mistake?” 

He wants to spit at her. To tell this hateful sow that he’s no intention of ever marrying. There are so many ways Harry would love to break her. Yet. He doesn’t. He nods, and says, “I’m not a boorish lout, Narcissa. I won’t let Draco alone to raise my mistake.” Harry doesn’t mean a word of it, but his acting must be spot on because in his peripheral view he can see Draco sag with relief. 

Narcissa’s mouth is pinched with a frown, but she sits and plays at pleasant when she asks Draco about the boring things Harry doesn’t care about. How far along is he? Does he have names picked out? Where are they going to live? 

“I’m going to make tea,” Harry says. Desperate to leave them to their inane and tense chatter. 

*

After the introduction with Mother, Draco decides the best thing to do is to make Potter meet the people he will have to endure during this pretend marriage. Pansy and Greg are the first, being the only marginally good friends Draco possesses. 

Still, there’s history between them. Potter—it seems—enjoys pointing out their flaws while he wears a sharp grin. The barbs get worse when he’s got a bit of piss in him. 

Pansy doesn’t help if anything she’s egging Potter on. And she, too, gets worse when she’s got the gin rolling in her gut. “So how did you get our darling into bed, Potter? Must’ve been some desperate gesture on your part since we all know Draco can’t stand you.” Draco tries not to flinch, he knows Pansy’s assessing him as much as she’s assessing Potter. 

“I imagine I was about as desperate as you were that night you tried to throw me to Voldemort,” Potter’s voice is rich and smooth as velvet. Pansy winces at the words. Potter’s smile is easy but holds a definite edge of malice. 

The night grows steadily worse. 

At one point Greg has to forcibly remove Pansy from Draco’s flat (because Potter refused to allow Pansy into his home) and Draco rounds on Potter. “What the fuck was all that?” 

Potter rubs at his jaw where Pansy socked him. Draco doesn’t feel sorry for him in the slightest. He did say some awful things about Pansy being a cunt about the situation because she was jealous at least Draco’s attractive enough to catch a husband. Which was both insulting and flattering. “Look, I said I’d marry you. I didn’t say I’d pretend to like your dickhead friends.” 

Draco frowns, but can’t come up with a response that doesn’t sound juvenile so he says nothing instead. He looks up from his feet when Potter stands. 

He’s an impressive man, standing of a height with Draco but broader with pale, golden skin that is pulled tight and smooth over defined muscles. A far cry from the runt Draco knew in early youth. “Get on your knees,” he whispers against Draco’s ear. 

“Do you want me to suck you off or are you going to fuck me?” Draco challenges. Trying not to sound eager. 

“If you don’t mind me I won’t do either.” A moot attempt because Potter can see right through him it seems. 

*

Potter holds his hole open with skilled, long fingers, and tickles the delicate skin of Draco’s rim with his tongue. Licking the stretched edge with the very tip of the wet muscle, teasing in a torturously slow exploration of one of the most sensitive spots of Draco’s body. “Potter,” his whine is a desperate whisper. 

“Shhh,” Potter’s breath is hot against him. Making Draco’s heart hammer with want. “You made me wait through hours of your horrid mates. I’m going to fuck you the way I want, Malfoy.” He licks up the delicate skin of Draco’s crack. “And I want to draw it out,” this he says at the hollow of Draco’s back. 

A promise Draco cannot wait to have fulfilled. 

*

Draco is beneath him. A sheen of sweat on his pale, pale skin that begs to be tasted. Harry indulges the desire—bending to lap at the salty perspiration that is gathered at the sharp jut of his collarbone. Bending presses him deeper into Draco’s soft, slippery hole. Made so by the long, languorous feast Harry had when he buried his face between Draco’s cheeks. 

“Potter,” Draco breathes. His full lips are red, bitten and wet from how he’s chewed at them to keep his voice quiet. 

Harry grins at the picture he paints. “It’s only me here, Draco. Let me hear you.” He cants his hips in a circular motion. 

“Fuck,” Draco gasps. His nails digging into Harry’s strong shoulders, as he wraps his slim legs around Harry’s waist. “Deeper, Potter, fuck me deeper.” 

He digs his fingers into Draco’s sharp hips, drawing him closer as Harry thrusts deeper. Their bodies create that slick, slapping sound and it spurs Harry on. As do the gasps that tell him Draco’s getting closer. 

“Come on my cock, Malfoy.” 

There’s something satisfying in watching Draco Malfoy turn into a wrecked, wet-eyed puddle of orgasmic bliss. Harry smears his fingers through the translucent come that spots Draco’s stomach. Grins down at Draco when those hazy, grey eyes settle on him. Harry licks his thumb—sucking Draco’s taste off of his skin. With his other hand, he brushes gentle fingertips across the deep, rosy flush in Draco’s cheeks. “Was that as good as you wanted?” 

“Better,” Draco admits with a laugh that Harry feels in his cock, where they are still connected. 

*

Ron and Hermione have a quaint place in Surrey. It’s the perfect place for a family—one they started with the birth of their daughter. Rose. Named for all the flowers that bloom in their back garden. Which has always seemed ridiculously saccharine to Harry, but he tries not to judge Ron for his fulfilled fantasy life. It’s not fair for both of them to be miserable sods. 

The last time Harry sat out here alone with Ron was when he and Ron talked about his split with Ginny. This begins the same. Ron comes out into the evening with two beers, hands one to Harry and has a seat beside him. The evening is fragrant with spring blooms, and the twinkling fairy lights make it more tranquil than Harry knows it will be. 

“Never good when you say we need to talk, Harry,” Ron begins with a solemn expression. Thirty suits him—his short, neatly kept ginger beard reflects the maturity and growth in his life. Harry’s long, ill-kempt hair—thrown into a messy knot atop his head—and scruffy face are a reflection of his own. 

Suddenly, he wonders if this will be the straw that breaks them. 

Even still he says, “I’m going to get married.” His tone is even, measured as he watches Ron for any sign of his feelings. Maturity means Ron has a better handle on his visual tells these days. 

Ron sets his beer on the ground beside his feet. Then casts a sideways glance at Harry. “Thought you didn’t want to marry?” His tone is also even, giving nothing away. But they both feel the tension rising between them. 

“Didn’t want a kid either, but here I am,” Harry replies with a bitter chuckle. 

A moment later Ron tackles him to the ground. “What?” His voice is low, dangerous—it’s the sort of rage Harry hasn’t seen from him since their fight during the war. 

He’s not afraid of Ron, Harry’s fear threshold is so high these days he questions his own sanity. Ron looks like he could gut Harry, but even still Harry baits him. “I got that git Malfoy pregnant.” His laugh rings hollow in the evening air. “So, I’m going to make an honest woman of him and take responsibility.” If Hermione could hear the way he talks about Draco and the way he emasculates him, Harry’s certain she would be disappointed. If the person were anyone but Draco, Harry would be disappointed in himself. 

“You fucking wanker,” Ron hisses. Grabbing hold of Harry’s shirt collar. “Him? You’re going to hurt my sister, again, for that twatter?” 

Harry doesn’t get the chance to respond. Ron’s fist slams into his cheek, causing a ringing and throbbing in his ears. Then comes another fist, and another, and another. 

He gets a fist into Ron’s stomach. Which surprises Ron enough for Harry to scramble away. He’s only got a moment before Ron is on him again. Harry doesn’t take it now—he fights back. Busting Ron’s lips against his knuckles, feeling his teeth cut the thin skin over them. “I won’t apologise,” he shouts when he lands another blow to Ron’s stomach. That causes Ron to stagger, and when he falls to his knees in the grass he gasps. Spitting blood onto the ground below. 

Which is how Hermione and the children find them. Rose screams. Hugo runs for his dad before Hermione can stop him. Tears make his two-year-old cheeks ruddy, and he screams that Harry is a bad man. For Harry to leave his daddy alone. That takes the angry wind from Harry’s lungs—deflates him and a weariness settles across his shoulders. 

What hurts the most is the disgusted blue eyes that glare up at him—eyes that were once friendly, the eyes a brother. 

“Get out of here,” Ron tells him as he hugs Hugo close. Murmuring comforts against Hugo’s wavy auburn hair. 

Hermione gazes at him with hurt brown eyes as Harry passes. Love for him as her brother and love for Ron as her partner warring in her expression. He leaves before he can disappoint her further. Or before she can hurt him by making her obvious choice. 

*

Harry winds up at Malfoy’s flat. He doesn’t want to go home yet. Mostly, he wants the comfort of Malfoy’s yielding flesh. Something to put his frustrations into—Harry needs the satisfaction of raking red marks across Draco’s pale sides before he digs his nails into those soft hips. 

What he finds, when he enters the flat, is Malfoy sitting on his posh sofa with some bloke Harry vaguely recognises. Malfoy moves away from that man quickly, however, when he looks up at Harry. “Potter,” he says—worry heavy in his tone. “You look a fright.” He moves towards Harry quickly, touching his bruised cheek with a tenderness Harry would’ve never imagined Malfoy possessed. 

“Had a bit of a scuffle,” Harry dismisses with a handwave. Eyeing the bloke that’s watching them with dark, disapproving eyes. Harry smiles—sharp and predatory—as he draws Malfoy closer to him, guiding him by the sharp jut of his hip bone. Then he places his other hand, the one banged up and bleeding, over the slight swell of Malfoy’s t-shirt covered abdomen. His possessive stance an obvious sign to the man still watching them.  _ This is mine. _ “How’s my baby?” He asks, though he’s never expressed an interest before. 

“Potter,” Draco begins and Harry presses closer to him. Making the outsider understand the intimacy between them. “Can you—just wait.,” Draco pulls away. A flush on his face as he turns to the man on the sofa. “Theo, I’m sorry—we will have to discuss this later.” 

“Sure,” Theo responds. Harry can hear the sharpness of rage in that one word and he grins at the other man tauntingly. 

When he’s at the Floo, Harry moves behind Draco—sucks at the side of his neck even as Draco hisses that Theo is still there. Harry knows. He’s well aware there are eyes tracking him as he reaches his fingers beneath Draco’s thin shirt. Dragging his nails gently against the soft flesh. “Potter,” Draco gasps—needy—when the Floo blazes with Theo’s departure.  _ Good riddance.  _

*

Potter settles on the sofa and drags Draco until he’s seated in Potter’s lap. His desire is noticeable when Draco sits on him—not even his jeans can hide the hard feel of his big prick. 

“You’re hard even though your face looks like this?” Draco taunts. He runs gentle fingertips over the split at the corner of Potter’s mouth. 

“I need to fuck out my frustrations,” Potter tells him, before he drags his teeth over the pads of Draco’s fingertips. “So are you going to worry about my bruises or ride me like you mean it?” 

Draco stands, towering over Potter on the sofa, and slips out of his pyjama bottoms. When his half-hard cock is free of the soft cotton Potter bends his face towards it—drawing the sensitive flesh into the hot cavern of his mouth. 

He gasps, taken by surprise by the delicate way Potter sucks him. Like he’s precious and something to be worshipped. A dangerous thing to believe when Potter has made it abundantly clear he will never actually love Draco. 

Then there are slick coated fingers at his crack—seeking to enter him and he relaxes to the intrusion. It lasts until he’s close. Potter pulls off of him with a wet pop and husks, “Come and have a ride, Malfoy.” 

He hates the charm Potter possesses. 

Draco kneels, over Potter’s lap, and reaches behind him to hold Potter’s cock steady. Before he lowers himself on the hot, hard flesh. His mouth stretches with a silent gasp. The feel of Potter in him is magic, everything about it is exuberant and Draco hates that he loves this more than anything. Craves it like drugs. 

“Potter,” he chants the name, over and over and over as he rides Potter’s perfect prick. 

“Draco,” he whispers against Draco’s chest before he draws a sensitive nipple between his straight teeth. Nipping it, then soothing the tender flesh of it with his skilled tongue. 

When he’s about to come, Potter wraps his fight damaged fingers in Draco’s fine hair and he draws Draco’s mouth to his. Hungry and Draco opens up to him to be devoured. 

*

After, Draco watches Potter where he sits naked on the edge of Draco’s large bed. The bed they moved to for their second round. Where Potter bent Draco over and fucked him like a dog in heat. He shivers, his body still tingling from the force of Potter’s lust. 

“Do you want me to treat your wounds?” Draco asks—his question going into the tense silence between them. 

Potter laughs, but the sound is hollow—bitter—and he turns to Draco. “I thought you enjoyed my suffering?” 

“Yes, but only when I cause it,” Draco replies—his tone the standard drawling sarcasm he always reverts to with Potter. 

A genuine chuckle pours from Potter’s beautiful throat. “Point.” He shakes his head. Then nods, “Go on then, Malfoy, patch me up.”

For as much as he’s touched Potter, as much as they’ve fucked, Draco finds this to be more intimate than those moments. Putting his magic into Potter’s body is a different kind of making love. One he never thought he’d get to have with Potter. 

Yet here they are, sharing things like lovers and Draco doesn’t want to hope for more. 

“You’re trembling,” Potter whispers against his hairless jawline. 

“Shut up,” he tries to sound annoyed even though his heart is fluttering. 

*

Harry hasn’t got much choice about taking Malfoy to meet Andromeda. Ron was sure to tell his mother what an absolute traitorous shit Harry is, and she—in true curtain twitcher fashion—rang up Andromeda to share the gossip. 

Andromeda, in turn, rang Harry at the Floo and told him—in no uncertain terms—that he was bringing Draco to tea at the weekend. 

So here Harry stands, in her small home, as she darts a glance between him and Draco. So many questions are in that glance. Ones Harry doesn’t have answers for, and so he hopes—fruitlessly—that she doesn’t ask them. “Teddy’s getting the biscuits sorted, shall we wait for him in the den?” 

Draco nods and follows when Andromeda turns. Harry doesn’t want to, but also follows. She shuts the door behind him, and he watches her cheery wallpaper with disinterest. Something she doesn’t appreciate, apparently, as Andromeda hisses, “When were you going to tell me that you’d gone and got married to my nephew?” Harry didn’t tell anyone until after the fact. It was a boring affair that came after that uncomfortable meeting with Narcissa. He’d taken Draco to get the necessary papers signed at the registry office in the Ministry, had the service performed in the same office, and then Obliviated the lot of them after the paperwork was filed. Harry hadn’t wanted to have any of that information leak to the papers. Honestly, he’d hoped to marry Malfoy and not tell anyone (except Ron because he felt he owed that tosser the truth) and then go on his merry way after their “year” agreement. 

None of those plans is working out now. 

“Didn’t think you’d be all that interested, honestly,” Harry replies as he settles back against the sofa. “It’s not like you’re terribly close with Draco or Narcissa so I didn’t think it necessary.” A lie, but one she might accept. 

“I’m close with you, Harry,” she shouts. Slamming her hand on the wall beside her. “We are family. I deserved to be told as you’ve basically been a surrogate father to my grandson.” Harry hadn’t wanted her or Teddy to know, because he didn’t want them holding onto Malfoy or the baby. He wanted them to remain separate so everything could go quietly into the night when this business was done. 

Perhaps that was an idealistic desire for Harry. On that is clearly beyond reach as of this moment. 

“Nan,” Teddy says as he comes in. Frowning at the tension he can detect in the room. “Is everything all right?” He sets the tin of biscuits down on the coffee table and summons the tea. 

“Yeah, yes,” Draco rushes to tell him. “We’re fine, just Potter being a shit and rushing things like usual.” Teddy frowns at him, but the expression drops off when he looks up into Draco’s face. Draco has a gentle expression and he’s pretty. That is one thing most of the world has always been able to agree on—Draco’s attractiveness. Something about Draco eases Teddy and Harry feels something in him grow uneasy as he watches them silently form an attachment. 

“Who are you,” Teddy asks Draco.

“Potter’s partner, I suppose.” He smiles that winning smile and runs a nervous hand over the slight curve of his growing stomach. A motion Andromeda picks up on as well. 

“Like his boyfriend?” Teddy asks, looking from Draco to Harry for a confirmation. 

“Wife, more like,” Harry quips with a wide smile. Then at the disapproving glance Andromeda shoots his way he adds. “We’re married. And we’re going to have a baby.” Might as hit them with everything at once. 

“Oh, cool,” Teddy says with an obvious glance at Draco’s shirt covered stomach. “I can teach him Quidditch.” Like it’s so easy to accept that Harry’s having his own baby. Which is daunting, Harry’s not sure he’d be as calm as Teddy if their positions were reversed. He’s pretty certain it would hurt—a lot—if he’d grown up under Sirius, only to have the man make a  _ real  _ baby with someone later. 

“What if it’s a girl?” Draco asks with a laugh, drawing Harry out of emotions better left untouched. 

“A sister will do, too.,” Teddy shrugs. 

“Good, now let's have a biscuit,” Draco says as he goes to sit back on the sofa. Beside Harry, as if he belongs there, and something in Harry is bothered by how calming he finds Draco’s presence. 

Teddy happily joins them, and Harry stares at Andromeda challengingly. Daring her to make the room tense again. He half hopes she does, so he can run far from the disquiet this moment invokes. 

She doesn’t. Just decides to sit and watch Teddy pull out the photo albums to show Draco their memories. 

*

Teddy invites Draco to one of his games. He’s in a junior competitive league. Something Harry’s been building up in England with teams of Hogwarts aged kids. It’s how he spends his sizable fortunes. Giving to orphanages and funding competitive leagues for anyone who’s good on a broom. It was the way he could remain saintly in the eyes of the public—his “kissing the baby” political move—and do something he actually gave a toss about. 

Teddy’s excellent at flying—probably the thing that helps them bond in his older years. Otherwise, Harry might not have taken much interest. This he doesn’t relay to Draco. Who is being unnaturally inquisitive about the entire thing. Harry has two brooms slung over his shoulder and he’s got the trunk floating behind them at a leisurely pace.

“So he’ll be thirteen this summer,” Draco asks, a picnic basket full of their lunch bounces against his hip. 

“Yeah,” Harry replies as they stop on the pitch. “What did you buy for lunch?” Curious over what Draco has in the basket to try to manipulate them all into loving him more. 

Draco’s eyebrows draw together., “I made it, you tit.” He sets the basket by the seats. When he pulls back up to his full height the thin white t-shirt he wears pulls tight over his stomach. Where Harry’s baby is growing larger by the day. 

He feels uncomfortable looking at the swell in such innocent circumstances. When they are in bed it’s less awkward. Harry can focus on other, more alluring parts of Draco. Like his pale pink arsehole and his lovely cock. 

“It’s chicken sandwiches, a salad and some biscuits. Both savoury and sweet. There are some cheese and wine, too.” Draco says as he starts performing anti-wrinkle charms on Teddy’s uniform. 

Harry frowns when Draco murmurs it won’t hurt to add and anti-stain charm and does just that. It’s so bleeding domestic it makes him wary. 

He doesn’t have time to wonder about why this all sets him on edge. Teddy and the other players for the team arrive. “Ready to kill them?” Harry asks when Teddy bounds up to them. 

“Of course,” he beams. “Wore my lucky pants.” Here he wiggles his teal eyebrows, in a show of dramatics.

“Hope you’ve washed them this time,” Harry says with a laugh. Charmed despite himself. 

“Had to—Nan said they were getting too stinky.,” Teddy winks. The cheeky shit. Then at Draco, he beams, “I’ll win today, for you.” 

He’ll be a real heartbreaker one day, or extremely devoted. Harry’s not quite decided which. All he knows is Teddy is naturally smooth. Which must be some kind strange connection to Sirius because neither Tonks nor Remus was good at that sort of thing. He damn sure didn’t learn it from Harry either—Harry’s never been good at turning on the charm. If it weren’t for the scar he might still be a bumbling virgin. 

Draco’s smile is soft., “You going to bring me the Snitch?” 

“Nah, Seeker is the easiest position,” Teddy teases knowing it’ll rile Harry. “I’m the one who makes the points that count.” 

With that, he snatches his uniform and broom before taking off towards the locker room. “What a shit,” Draco laughs and Harry agrees. 

*

Teddy is an excellent flyer, Draco watches him as he moves through the air with precise, fluid movements. The child in him flutters and he grins, wondering if they will be up there one day. Flying in the sky with the colours of Potter’s team. 

His eyes move to where Potter hovers on the edge of the pitch. His strong legs wrapped around his own sleek broom. Potter shouts directions at the team—a true coach—and Draco bites his lip at the way Potter’s throat strains. It’s unfair he’s so appealing. 

As if Potter can feel the desire, he turns, eyes locking on where Draco is sitting in the stands. Draco wets his lip with his tongue and delights at the way Potter grips his broom. Something in that grip promises dark delights later, for Draco.

After—when Teddy’s won—Potter tells Teddy to get home and have Andromeda get ready. “We can go for pizza in about an hour,” he says. “I’ve just got to clean up here.” 

“All right, see you then,” Teddy says, scampering off to the pub that has a public Floo. 

Potter grabs Draco by the arm, when Teddy’s gone and takes him to the lockers. They are blessedly empty but stink of sweat. Draco doesn’t have time to care about that when Potter gets a hand down his trousers. 

“I’m going to fuck you proper,” Potter promises. His teeth look sharp, dangerous, and Draco wants them to dig into his throat. 

“You promised Teddy pizza,” Draco reminds. Playing coy. 

“I know how to get you off, Malfoy,” Potter says against his lips. “Now turn around and let me have that arse.” 

Draco will never tell Potter, but he loves it when Potter bosses him around. 

*

Andromeda glances between them with a knowing look, as does Mother, and Draco fidgets beneath the scrutiny. Potter, the twat, gives them a taunting grin while he reaches over to play with the sensitive skin of Draco’s wrist. 

“We were discussing taking a holiday with the other ladies of my social circle,” Mother says as their dinner arrives. She does a very good job of not showing how much the pizza offends her sensibilities. Draco suspects if it wasn’t for his aunt and her darling son his mother wouldn’t step foot in this establishment. 

“Were you,” Draco asks. His aunt nods and he is glad for his mum to have something of their old sibling bond back. She always loved her sisters—even though she thought both were out of their minds. “Where would you go?” Draco asks. 

“Tuscany this year,” Mother replies as if Tuscany is some boring usual place where old women take holidays. “There’s just the business of Teddy,” his mother has that  _ tone  _ the one that has an undercurrent of  _ you’re going to deal with this for me. _

Teddy’s playing in the arcade with other lads, so he’s not in danger of hearing himself discussed like luggage. Draco knows how awful that feels. “What business?” 

“He’s young, he won’t enjoy a holiday with a bunch of old women,” Andromeda says in a manner that suggests she’s actually concerned about her grandson. It’s a nice difference from how Draco was handled. His mother loved him, certainly, but she wasn’t good at loving him all the time. It always had to be when she felt like doting and being a mother, other times he was the nanny and governesses’ problem. “But I’d feel guilty not taking him.” 

“I’ll take him,” Draco responds easily. Perhaps it’s the pregnancy, but he feels more loving of children these days. Something he thought would never happen. He also finds that he quite likes Potter’s godson. He’s a good kid who just inspires happiness. A feeling that has been in short supply for Draco since the end of the war. “There’s plenty of room at the flat in London and he can spend time with his mates.” 

“You’re both new to your marriage and are still honeymooning, I couldn’t ask that of you.” Andromeda sounds as if she feels guilty. 

“He’s basically my godson too, now, I should get to know him.” Draco insists. 

Andromeda looks to Harry., “What about you?” 

“I’m fine with Teddy staying with us at Malfoy’s, or we can stay at mine. Doesn’t matter. There’s room aplenty for him at either place.” 

*

The fourth week of Teddy has Harry feeling odd. Draco interacting with his godson, in a flat that feels more and more like a home has his heart in turmoil. He’s not supposed to wake up beside a grinning Malfoy. He’s not supposed to find contentment here. Harry’s not supposed to secretly want to touch the child he can see wriggling within Draco’s slender body. That was not the plan. 

They’re at the kitchen table—an expensive, polished black table that is in Draco’s dining room. It’s covered in a mess of quills, parchment, ink pots and various snacks. Draco doesn’t seem to mind the mess as he helps Teddy with his Potions essay. His smile is loving and it does things to Harry. Makes him think of taboo words like  _ forever  _ and  _ love. _

An unease fills him. Safety and family and forever are scary to him. Something Hermione’s told him he needs to talk to a therapist about, but Harry has steadily avoided dealing with these things. He enjoys ignoring his issues until they sort themselves, or bury themselves deep within him beneath defence mechanisms. 

“Potter,” Draco says—his voice full of worry. “Is everything all right?” 

“Yeah,” he replies—dismissive. “I’ve just got some things I need to do.” 

“Oh,” Draco shrugs, and goes back to whatever Teddy’s asking about. “You misspelt that.” He points at the parchment. “Go ahead and redo it.” The way Draco’s skin crinkles around his pretty grey eyes makes Harry ache with longing. 

Harry has to excuse himself. “I’ll be back,” he says. Gruff and disoriented as he rushes to the Floo. Needing to be far away from here. From this need that’s growing. 

“Potter,” Draco calls after him, but he’s not stopping. He’s gone. 

_ I don’t want to be in love. I don’t want a family. This has to end the way I wanted it to.  _

In his flat’s bedroom, there’s a book of people he used to ring when his sexual needs required him to touch another. When a wank just didn’t suffice. 

He rings up Romilda at the Floo. “Hey,” he says, in that voice that lets her know what he needs. 

*

She’s a mess beneath him. Sweaty and desperate, but Harry feels nothing. His cock struggles to stay hard. With Draco, he’s constantly hard and straining—always desperate for  _ more _ . Here he’s a wilted old man in need of a blue pill. 

_ What am I doing?  _ He asks himself. His mind drifts, thinking back to the days they’ve been spending together in Draco’s flat. Hours of them raising a teenager and sharing intimacies that terrify Harry’s survival responses. Kicking them into overdrive. He stops, pulls off Romilda and is about to tell her to fuck off when his Floo whooshes in the sitting room. 

His head jerks up when Malfoy—heavily pregnant—comes into the bedroom. 

He staggers, gripping the doorjamb with those beautiful hands Harry enjoys kissing. There’s a hurt Harry’s never seen on his face. Not even that time when he caught Malfoy in Myrtle’s loo did Draco look so pained. Now it’s as if Harry’s eviscerated him in even worse ways than he had at sixteen. 

“Draco,” Harry shouts, desperately trying to call him back when Draco tears out of the room. A sob ripping out of his beautiful throat. “Malfoy,” he shouts again. “Malfoy, I can explain.” 

“Can you,” he responds with a shrill edge to his voice. Rounding on Harry. “Can you, Potter?” He shoves at Harry’s firm chest that’s still sticky with sweat. “Tell me you didn’t have your cock in her then, go on.” Draco’s grey eyes are wide, bright with a sheen of emotion and pinking at the whites from the hurt Harry has caused. 

Harry doesn’t respond. Draco laughs—a cold, hateful sound. 

“You can’t tell me that, because you were in there fucking that tart despite the fact you swore a year to me.” He spits in Harry’s face, but it doesn’t phase Harry as it smacks against his cheek. He’s a bastard and he knows he deserves this. “No wonder Weaslette left you. You’re a fucking piece of work.” Draco turns to leave. Shrugging off Harry’s hand when it grabs him by the bony shoulder. “Fuck off, Potter. This is perfect and you get what you want—me out of your damn life.” That is what he wanted, isn’t it? But why does it hurt so much to have what he wants? 

“What about...” Harry trails off, wondering if he’s got the right to ask about a baby he didn’t want seven months ago. 

“I’ll ring you after it’s born, Potter, and let you know we’ve survived.” With that said Malfoy leaves in a flash of green flames. Harry rests his arms on the mantle, sagging against it for a moment before he gathers up one of the decorative candles that rest there and turns to throw it against a wall. Doesn’t do much good, he still feels like shit. 

Harry tells Romilda to leave a few minutes later, and she takes off without a word. He sits on his bed naked while staring at the walls that are littered with Quidditch posters. Thinks of how he never wanted a family and tries to remind himself of why families are awful. He’s not got many good reasons in his memory when all he can think of is Draco’s face. Those times when the morning light moves across it—lighting Draco’s pale lashes like fiery gold. He thinks of the way Draco would reach out to touch him, the way his hands wrapped warm comforting fingers around Harry’s cock and kissed him lovingly. That’s what he was scared of, wasn’t it? Malfoy’s love for him. It was palpable. A heady flavour on his tongue that Harry feared yet wanted to devour. 

“Shit,” he says to nothing as he flops back against his mattress. 

Later, when he thinks Draco’s had time to calm himself, Harry tries to Apparate into Draco’s flat. He finds himself warded against it. The Floo doesn’t allow him in either. 

_ Fuck _ . 

*

Mother doesn’t ask after Potter’s sudden absence. Neither do Andromeda or Teddy, and Draco is totally fine to ignore giving them answers. He’d be perfectly content to forget Potter’s involvement in his life. That won’t happen, of course. In a few short weeks, after their split, Potter’s daughter comes screaming into the world 

With ten perfect fingers and ten perfect toes. Meissa Talitha Malfoy. 

“She’s wonderful,” Mother tells him as she stares down at the small bundle in Draco’s arms. “A perfect little child.” Meissa opens her small eyes and Mother grins, “At least he gave her those beautiful eyes.” 

“I hope she doesn’t get his hair,” Draco jokes in return. 

“One can bloody well hope she doesn’t inherit anything else,” his mother mutters as she moves to take a seat beside his birthing bed. 

Draco worries his lips between his teeth, and wonders about Potter—wonders if he’s missing them or if he even cares. 

A line of thoughts he doesn’t want to explore, to be honest. It hurts too much, the thought of Potter not wanting them. 

Draco loves him too much to be okay with being abandoned by this man. Which is a great irony since he always tried to instigate Potter into a rage—into a hatred for Draco. Now he wishes he could change all that, go back and learn to be better then maybe now they’d have had the slightest chance. 

“Give her here,” Mother says to him. “Let me love her some more.” 

There’s a happy smile on Mother’s face, and he doesn’t comment about it when she settles back into the chair after retrieving his daughter. 

“Did you ring Pansy, darling,” she asks as she adjusts Meissa in her arms. Grinning down at her with an expression Draco recalls from his early youth. 

“She said she’d be by tomorrow, or will wait until we get to the flat if I prefer, which I think I do.” The idea of anyone seeing him looking so horrid is not the least bit appealing. 

“Andromeda is dying to meet her, and so is Teddy.” Mother informs him as she opens up Meissa’s blankets, to count her small fingers and toes. 

“They can come anytime,” Draco says with a warmth he truly feels. Glad that at least he got a few good gifts from Potter. The gift of family. 

“I’ll ring her then.” 

*

Teddy adores the baby. “She’s so small,” he says as he cradles her small body in the space of his thin arms. “Hey, Meissa,” he coos in the softest, most tender voice Draco has ever heard him use. “I’m your big brother, Teddy and I’m going to teach you everything I know.” That makes him fog up, but it’s happiness, not sorrow, filling his eyes. 

Mother and Andromeda both have a bit of pain on their faces from those words. Both caught up in their private losses.

Draco smiles at Teddy., “You will be the best big brother.” 

“Where’s Harry?” Teddy asks, but his eyes are still on Meissa’s small face. Too absorbed to notice the world outside of the one he holds in his young arms. 

“Busy with work,” Draco lies to him. Unwilling to make Harry a bad guy in this situation. Draco knew what it was when he followed Potter into that darkened, dirty loo the first time. He knew what those nails in his back and hips meant. He knew the teeth in his hide were as loving as Potter would ever be. And still, Draco had welcomed him in. 

But living with Potter had given him the illusion of love. Had made him want more than he knew he deserved or could gain. The way Potter kissed him, held him like something precious and fragile made Draco melt like some woman. But Potter would never love him like one of the women he might've loved before. No. Draco was his arch-rival. The thorn in his flesh through school and there would never be love in his heart for a tormentor such as Draco. 

“He’ll be excited to meet her,” Teddy says with true belief. “He’s going to love her more than anything.” 

Draco doubts it. 

*

Hermione is the one who he goes to when his life is shit. 

Harry needs her more than ever now. 

“What can I do for you?” she asks. There’s a determined draw to her eyebrows. A familiar expression he remembers from the years they lived in each other’s pockets. “Are you still married to Malfoy?” 

“Yeah,” Harry admits. Sorrow and regret creep into his tone when he says, “He sent dissolution papers, but I’ve not signed them yet.” 

“I’m sorry, Harry.” She looks genuinely apologetic. Only Hermione could put her feelings about Malfoy beneath Harry’s need for compassion. She’s a saint, one that will never be canonised to anyone but Harry. 

“Don't be,” he tells her. “I was the bastard in all of this.” When Hermione doesn’t press Harry tells her anyway. About the agreement, about the fear, about how perfectly Malfoy slotted into his life and why that made him terrified of falling. 

“Nothing good happens when love is involved,” he groans as he puts his hands over his eyes, trying to block out reality. 

Pity it doesn’t work. 

“That’s a terrible way to look at things,” Hermione says with a sad tinge to her voice. 

“I just...love is complicated for me, Hermione.” He sits up again, righting his glasses as he meets her gaze. 

“Yeah, that’s not a huge revelation,” Hermione responds with a roll of her brown eyes. 

“I just meant that I don’t know how to do this with anyone, let alone him.” Which is a hard thing to admit to anyone. That he’s a failure at what most people find simple. 

“Do you want to do this with him?” Hermione doesn’t let any of her own feelings sink into the question. Her tone is neutral, and Harry’s both grateful and angry he doesn’t have an excuse to get defensive. 

“Not sure,” he admits with a groan. 

“Little late for that, now that you’ve got a child, don’t you think?” That’s another thing he doesn’t want to think about either. His daughter he’s yet to meet. The one born just yesterday, according to the letter he received from Andromeda. 

“Probably,” Harry huffs. 

“Ron misses you, you know,” she tells him when he’s packing up to leave her office at the ministry. 

“Have him tell me that himself then,” Harry replies with his usual level of maturity. 

“You know he won’t,” she laughs. “He’s probably more stubborn than you.”    
  


“Jury’s still out on that one.,” Harry grins. 

“True, it’ll be a close vote.” She gives him a quick hug, whispering, “It’ll be okay, Harry, promise.” Before he leaves. 

*

He’s grabbing a beer from the fridge when his Floo signals an arrival. Frowning, Harry goes into the sitting room to see who is dropping in unannounced. 

Surprisingly, Draco’s there, in a long black cloak—despite the warmth of late summer. Harry realises why he has need for the cloak when he sees the small bundle that is in his arms. The cloak was meant to shield her from the ash of the Floo, and it seems to have worked. There’s not a speck on her. 

He swallows. Approaching slowly. “Is this...” he trails off. Unsure of the name. All he knows is the birthday. August 25th. Andromeda wrote him a few days ago to let him know the small one was here— _ a beautiful girl, Harry _ —and to remind him that he needed to get Teddy a new broom like he promised. 

“Meissa,” Draco says as he drops his cloak to the hardwood floor. “Your daughter. She’s three days old now, and I figured it was time you met.” 

Harry stops right before Draco, and reaches out to touch her soft, white hair. Hesitating before his finger makes contact. “May I?” 

“Of course, Potter, it’s why I’m here. I can’t let you act like you don’t even know your daughter’s name when the papers write about our divorce.” That’s Malfoy—pragmatic and bitchy as ever. 

Harry frowns, “I haven’t signed the divorce yet.” 

“Yes, well, I figured you could do that while I was here.” Draco pulls Meissa away from Harry and settles into one of the chairs. Cradling the small girl to his chest. “Go on, I’ve got to feed this one.” 

Harry freezes when he realises Draco is unbuttoning his shirt. “Are you...” 

“Where do you think she eats from? The tit of a house-elf?” Draco snips. 

“A bottle, with formula,” Harry counters. His voice implying that should be obvious. 

“I don’t believe in milk replacements, Potter, that’s for the poor.” There’s that arrogance—the one Harry often tried to fuck out of him. Never worked, but he did enjoy trying. 

“Pretentious wanker,” Harry mutters and leaves the room when his daughter starts suckling at Draco’s small, swollen breast. 

He finds the papers on his desk, where he left them, but he won’t grab the quill. He can’t bring himself to let Draco go now. Not when it feels so right to have him there, in his flat, with their daughter. 

He takes a long time to return, and when he does it’s with a sealed envelope. “Here,” he says as he passes it to Draco, who has Meissa over his shoulder, burping her. 

“Pleasure,” Draco says with an edge to his voice. “I’ll be sure to tell everyone it was my fault—since no one likes me anyways.” Harry swears he hears a crack in Draco’s words. 

“Malfoy,” he starts, and stops before he can say something that Draco will find hollow—untrue. 

*

Potter held Meissa for a few minutes, and Draco had to work extremely hard to not cry at the image of them. Potter’s intense green eyes stared down at her in wonder, and she wriggled in his large hands. So small, so breakable and he was ever so gentle. The way he was, at times, with Draco, when their daughter grew bigger between them.

They are home now, away from Potter and the feelings he invokes. 

Meissa is in her crib, sleeping with her little bow mouth open, and Draco clutches the envelope Potter gave him before he left. He’s dreading opening it. 

Doesn’t want to see their flimsy tether broken. 

Adulthood isn’t getting what you want, Draco has discovered. 

He settles into his chair in the nursery and breaks the seal. 

Draco expects papers, what he doesn’t expect is the letter that greets him. 

It speaks to him, like a Howler but softer. 

_Draco, I know I’ve hurt you. And I know you have zero reasons to forgive me for not even being able to hold a short promise. But I need you to understand that I’m a horrible man, one who isn’t good with feelings or any sort of stability. Love scares me in ways death never could. Falling in love with you is the most terrifying thing I’ve done. And I do love you. Crazy and stupid as that sounds. I miss you when you’re not here. I think about the way you smile, how the skin around your eyes crinkle with real joy and I want to kiss every curve of your skin. I never wanted that, you know. Sex I can do, feelings complicate things. And children...Jesus children are forever. What if I die? What if I leave them jaded and disillusioned? What if I can’t be who they need most? What if I fail?_

_ Failure isn’t an option for me, Draco. It’s something I can’t live with—yet, here I am, failing you. I fucked her. _

Draco winces and looks away from the letter, but the words still come. Invading him as Potter always has, making Draco face him even when it’s what he wants least. 

_ I fucked her and felt nothing. I couldn’t come with her, because everything about her was wrong. She wasn’t you. Her skin had the strong odour of vanilla and I craved bergamot. Her skin was deep caramel and I wanted porcelain. God, if I could wash you from me I could go back to who I was, Draco, but I can’t. The very thought of not knowing you makes me ache with longing. It hurts as nothing has. _

Draco releases a sob. 

Then, at last, the letter closes with a final sentiment. _I love you, Draco Malfoy—will you continue being my wife?_

He laughs through the tears, “Fuck you, Potter.” 

*

He decides to make Potter wait for a response. Potter’s still a twat who put his prick in someone else, after all. Draco’s not a complete wanker who is willing to roll over and welcome him back after a romantic confession. No matter how sweet he found said confession. 

No, Draco enjoys making people suffer when they’ve wronged him. And Potter deserves to suffer. 

Instead, he rings Pansy. His constant and truest friend. 

She comes with wine. Despite the fact Draco can’t drink. Something he tells her when she steps out of the Floo. 

“This is for me, if I’m going to listen to you talk about Potter’s cock then I’m going to need it.” Such a darling. 

“Twit,” he mutters, but his expression is fond. 

“He wants me back,” Draco informs her. Later, when she has the wine sloshing in her belly and they’ve eaten a plate of chocolate and berries. She’d been telling him about how awful Zabini was in bed, and about how she feels sorry for his wife if that’s the best dicking he can give. She’d been chewing on chocolate, watching him thoughtfully when she finally asked about the Potter situation. 

“Because he realised your arse is better than any fanny he’s thrown his prick into,” Pansy quips, as she flicks her wand to pop out the cork of a second bottle. 

“You’re a dear,” Draco drawls. 

She chuckles, “The way Theodore’s gone on about your magical arse, I’d say it’s a damn good one.” She passes him more chocolate when he gestures for the plate. 

“Christ, fuck a guy once and he never lets it go.” Draco complains, but he’s wearing a grin as he bites into the delicious little square. 

“Darling, you’re preaching to the choir,” Pansy chuckles as she pours herself another glass. 

*

A couple of weeks after he sends Malfoy the sickeningly sweet letter, Harry decides to go see Ron. He’s going to have to patch things up because he misses him. Also because Ron is the best dad he knows, and Harry is going to need some pointers. 

“Hey,” he gives an awkward wave when Ron opens the door to the house he shares with Hermione. 

“What do you want,” Ron asks, but Harry takes it as a good sign that he’s not slamming the door in Harry’s face. 

“To talk, to apologise, to beat each other up again?” Harry shrugs. 

Ron cracks a smile, at least, “Can’t have a go at you again—Hugo was traumatised.” 

“He needs to get used to fists instead of words if he wants to survive in your family,” Harry laughs and Ron steps aside to let him in. 

“Yeah, I think he gets his delicate sensibilities from Hermione’s family. Damn sure didn’t come from mine.” That’s the truth, Harry thinks. He remembers the Christmas where Bill and Percy went at it because of some slight Percy made against their mother. Harry didn’t think Percy was capable of throwing punches, but he was surprised. 

Ron leads him to the kitchen, where he grabs them a couple of beers. Drawing Harry away from the memories of his surrogate family. “So, where’s the kid?” Ron, much as he hates Malfoy, is a Weasley. Harry’s convinced all Weasleys love babies. They could love the devil if he came to them in a nappy and swaddled in cotton. 

“Malfoy has her, I haven’t been trusted to keep her yet,” he snorts. 

“Heard from my wife yours caught you with your cock in someone else, so I imagine he’s not keen on being civil,” Ron replies as he leans against the counter. 

“I’m just glad he didn’t hex my bollocks off,” Harry admits. He’s surprised, too, Malfoy does seem the sort to go for the cock in a fight. 

“Hermione would’ve left them but I bet she’d have shrivelled my cock,” Ron jokes before he takes a long swallow of his beer. 

“You aren’t completely fucked up about love the way I am, so you can handle monogamy,.” Harry reminds him. 

“Point,” Ron says. Taking another sip of his beer. “I’m grateful you didn’t fuck my sister up with your problems.” 

Harry laughs. “She probably thinks so too.” He takes a drink of his own beer, mostly for something to do. 

“I can’t say for certain, you don’t come up in conversation often.” 

He shakes his head., “You know how to kick a man where it hurts, don’t you?” 

“Potter, I love having a go at your ego,” Ron chuckles. Then flops into a seat at the table., “Go on then, tell me about your deep, undying love for the one git I can’t stand.” Ron is a good mate—Harry’s not sure he deserves him. But he sure is glad to have him regardless of his own worth. 

Harry smiles., “Honestly, I can’t stand him. But my cock only wants to work for Draco Malfoy.” 

“Bloody fuck, don’t tell me about your sex life. It was hard enough looking you in the eye after Ginny. But I’ll need an Obliviate if you bang on about Malfoy and his tiny cock,.” Ron groans, rubbing a hand over his beard. 

“It’s not-,” Ron cuts him off with a loud _ La La La. _

“I could pull you into a Pensieve,” Harry threatens with a teasing tone. Once Ron’s quit his loud chanting. 

“Do it and I’ll be in Azkaban before you know it.” The threat is said with love. 

*

He arrives home to Pansy waiting for him. 

“I’ve been desperate before, Parkinson, but not this desperate,” Harry tells her as he approaches his front door.

“Funny, Potter—though I hear you’ve been working with a wonky wand as of late,” she snaps back. Cattiest bitch Harry’s ever had the displeasure of knowing. 

“Clever,” he deadpans as he opens the door to his flat. Her foot blocks him from slamming the wood of it in her face. “Jesus, God what did I do to deserve this invasion?” A stupid question, he realises as soon as it’s out of his mouth. 

Like a harpy she shrieks, “You put your cock in some tart and you expect Draco being mildly miffed is the worst of it? Not on your resurrected life, Potter.” She hisses as she bends into his space, “I’m a lot of awful things, Potter, but one thing I’m not is an awful friend. Now let me into this shit hole so I can make you into someone worthy of Draco’s orbit.” 

“I’m sure he can sort my worth for himself, thanks,” he tries. She’s not having it, however, and barges right inside. “Fuck me,” he mutters as he watches her stomp down his corridor. 

*

“Mother, I hardly think this is necessary,.” Draco huffs for the fiftieth time that evening. “It’s still too early for me to have a night out.” 

“Meissa is fine in the capable hands of Andromeda and Teddy—besides you love  _ La Bohème _ .” She leads him to their private box of the Rigel Black Theater. One of the many boxes that are exclusive to the Black family. So it’s a bit of a shock for Draco to find Potter being led to another. The  _ better _ one. The one reserved for the head of the Black family. Another thing he’s stolen from Draco in his quest to strip him of all his pride. 

“Harry,” Mother calls to him in that overly familiar way of hers. “I thought I’d never see the dust disturbed in that box.” Seems that she is also bitter about having her legacy being held in Potter’s palm. 

“Someone suggested this show to me. I figured I might as well give it a go.” His casual shrug does things to Draco’s neglected libido, and the finely tailored tuxedo isn’t helping anything. 

“Where’s your date, then?” Mother’s gaze holds a sharp edge. 

“Don’t have one, it’s just me in this box tonight.” Potter’s green eyes slide to Draco, and he glances away so as not to be caught in that mesmerizing gaze. 

“Oh,” she draws out the “O” and then a wicked gleam sparkles in her grey eyes. “How about you have Draco join you? I’m waiting for an old friend myself, and I feel Draco would have more fun with you than he would with me.” It’s an obvious ruse to have them spend the night alone while she canoodles with one of the twits she’s been dating. 

Draco could strangle her. 

*

“RENT is a better version of this story,” Potter comments when Rodolfo and Mimì stumble—after their candles have gone out. 

“You’re a novice at musical theatre, Potter—I’ll thank you to be silent,” Draco replies with a dismissive tone. All the while being slightly impressed Potter has seen some sort of production before this night. He’d always assumed Potter was about as educated as a stone when it came to anything outside of Quidditch and killing dark lords. 

He’s too focused on the rich scent of Potter to notice much of the opera. Potter’s outfit is fine, wrapping around his muscles with an intimate hold Draco envies. “I’m bored, Draco.” Potter’s voice is soft and hot against the shell of his ear. Igniting a fire in Draco that only he can conjure. “I’d rather listen to your moans as I fuck you—that’s my idea of entertainment.” 

Draco should be a stronger man. He shouldn’t let Potter unravel him like cheap twine. But he does. He falls into the trap Potter lays without the slightest hesitation. 

He opens his arms and welcomes Potter, gladly. Allows him to unwrap Draco’s fine robes like a present and gasps when skilled hands explore him with gentle fingertips—treating him like glass. 

“Potter,” he moans. 

“God, I missed this,” Potter whispers against his nipple, before teasing the tender flesh with his teeth. A bit of milk expels into his mouth, and Draco’s embarrassed when Potter pauses. He lifts his face, staring at Draco with a hungry grin. “You’re terribly sweet to the taste, Malfoy.” Then he dips his face closer for more. 

*

He’s got Draco bent over the rail of the box. A disillusionment charm and a silencing charm keep them from being a menace to the others watching this dull production. Though Harry enjoys it when Draco’s sharp shouts join in harmony with the soprano. 

He licks his lip, grinning down at where Malfoy’s pale pink rim stretches around the girth of his thick cock. “You’re beautiful,” he says against the sweat-slick skin of Draco’s white back. 

“Shut up,” but he can tell Draco doesn’t mean it. He hears the words for what they truly are—a command for  _ more.  _

“I’m going to be so good to you,” Harry whispers against his neck. “So good, you’ll see.” 

Draco sobs when he comes against the velvet that lines this opulent box. 

*

Potter takes his time with fucking him. It’s loving, sweet, and too slow but Draco clings to his broad back as they begin again. Desperate for more. 

“Why are you so gentle?” He gasps when Potter’s hand on his cock isn’t tight enough.

“Because I want you to feel my sincerity,” Potter replies against his sweat-damp temple. 

He is embarrassed that those words choke him up—that looking into Potter’s face makes him feel things he doesn’t want. He doesn’t want to love a man who is emotionally stunted. But here he is a broken man loving another damaged man. 

“Promise not to break me,” he begs, and Potter kisses tears off of his lashes. Drinking them down like a man thirsty for the taste. 

“I promise, Draco.” 

That’s when he comes again. Hot, translucent drops that splash between them. 

*

Teddy doesn’t act surprised when they come in together. He’s in the floor with Meissa playing with a floating set of blocks. She giggles when they bounce against her chubby hand, and Teddy smiles. Seeing them together warms Draco’s heart. 

“How was the opera?” Teddy asks while Meissa grabs onto his hand, drawing it closer to chomp on it with her gums. Teething has been a nightmare, but Teddy is taking it in stride.

Draco flushes as Potter shoots him a wry grin. “It was great.” 

“Are you going home together then?” He asks, after he’s lifted Meissa into his young arms and walks towards them. 

“We are,” Potter assures as he accepts Meissa from Teddy. She goes with a gummy smile, pulling at the long, silky strands of Potter’s hair. Draco misses the mess of it but appreciates that he actually cleans up nice when he tries. “Hello, love,” Potter murmurs with a smile. Pressing a kiss to her soft cheek. Their daughter winces, from the bristles of Potter’s short beard. 

Teddy has a wistful sort of expression on his face. A melancholy that tugs at Draco’s heart. He clears his throat., “We had a great time. I’m always up to sit with her if you need a date.” 

“You know, Teddy,” Potter begins. “You’re always welcome to come home with us. You may stay whenever you like.” 

Teddy lights up like Christmas has come again. 

*

Being a father was never in the cards for Harry. He thought he’d been cured of the desire. 

Yet, here he is. In the garden of the home he’s bought with Draco, watching his two-year-old daughter chase his fifteen-year-old adopted son. 

Draco watches on from a chair, smiling and rubbing at the slight swell that rests beneath his t-shirt. “Meissa,” he calls out, “Don’t bother Teddy, he’s training for the upcoming match with those snotty American brats.” 

“S’alright,” Teddy calls as he swings Meissa up with his swiftly developing arms. “Want to train, Mei? I need to get better at controlling the broom with just my legs.” 

Harry thinks about how he used to tiredly pace the floor, holding Teddy and resenting him for screaming. Harry wonders if maybe Teddy’s screams were because he could feel Harry’s rage. His brokenness. Maybe he was trying to reach a Harry who wanted to be loved but didn’t really believe it yet. 

“Set a charm on her, on the off chance she falls,” Harry reminds. Teddy—cheeky as ever—winks at Harry as he tosses Meissa in the air. Catching her effortless and she giggles with delight. “Got it, Harry.”

He takes a seat beside Draco, who gives him a sideways glance and a sly grin. A grin Harry wants to eat. “I wonder if your next son will be so cheeky.” 

Harry places his palm against the warm, soft skin of Draco’s belly. Leaning over to kiss him. “If he’s anything like you, he’ll be worse.” 

“Scared, Potter?” Draco teases. 

“You wish,” he whispers against Draco’s plush mouth. Then he swallows down the delicious gasp Draco releases. 

_ I’m glad to have done this with you, you wanker.  _

**Author's Note:**

> Please help promote the fest by sharing your favourite submissions so more people can enjoy the HD Mpreg fest
> 
> Thanks!  
> Author and artist reveals are on June 16th.


End file.
